Guardian
by ThinksInWords
Summary: The guardian angel known as Éponine can only save one. She sacrifices immortality to give the man Enjolras a chance at a better life. She hopes that the sacrifice will not be in vain (for infinitesoaringspires)


Guardian

Summary: the guardian angel known as Éponine can only save one. She sacrifices immortality to give the man Enjolras a chance at a better life. She hopes that the sacrifice will not be in vain (for **infinitesoaringspires**)

AN: The only way I could go with this prompt was something supernatural. Also, I'm sorry for whatever historical mistakes that I have undoubtedly made. I don't want to screw things up history-wise, which is why I usually write modern AU.

She had begged and she had pleaded, and still she was only granted one resurrection for the men on her barricade – and there were so many of them who deserved to be saved.

As the guardian angel of the Amies' barricade, she has done everything that she could – but events could not be disturbed and it had to end this way. She had to let them go off to their graves even when she cared so much for all of them, her men.

Marius was the only one with a destiny beyond that day, and so she took care of him more than the others, knowing that he would live on and hopefully tell the stories of their friends so that they could live on in some way. He would marry his beloved Cosette, and while he would occasionally feel guilty, he would get to be happy.

"Pick the one who most deserves to be happy," she had been ordered.

"But I can't leave him all on his own," she protested when she had been told to only revive the one man – no children allowed because they got automatic tickets into heaven and would be deprived of this by a reviving. "There has to be someone else."

The only option was for her to be that someone else – he either had to go on alone, or she had to give up immortality to give him a better destiny. It was either let him destroy himself – because the guilt of being the only one left standing would kill him – or give up everything and hope that she could make things better.

She could lie and say that the choice was easy, but she would be lying.

"I choose Enjolras," she speaks at the barricade – time itself is waiting for her to choose so that she can work her cruel magic once more. "And I choose life."

Her next breath was the most painful one that she had ever taken – she could feel her existence being ripped apart and being put back together all in the space of that single breath. She is put back in the Éponine body – without most of its heavy wounds, but with its weak and brittle bones and her gaunt features. She can deal with that.

"Enjolras," she whispers, hoping to find him before they are caught.

Events are in flux, so everything that she does from here on out can have a ripple effect that will change the world as the angels have prophesied it. She is not allowed to change too much, so Enjolras will have to be kept far away from major developments.

A moan sounds from over her head, and she can see his body hanging out of the window, holding the red flag that has been the symbol of their revolution. She has always preferred the color white, but she finds that her opinion has changed after hearing him sing the song of angry men. She understands red as the color of passion.

She is up the stairs and inside the café in no time, hoisting him back inside with the last remnants of her angel strength. He feels heavy, and when she finally manages to get him inside, he lands right on top of her, pinning her to the floor with his weight.

The bodies of Grantaire and some of their other friends litter the floor, and she cannot look at their unseeing eyes because it forces her to confront her choice. It forces her to think about her choice and wonder if she made the right one to choose him as the person who got to get up and walk away. She wonders if she could have fixed Grantaire – or if she has any right to bring him back after he so bravely stood with Enjolras and showed his love for the other man. No, Grantaire has earned a better place.

Enjolras has earned a chance at a better life on this planet.

"Mon ami," she whispers, pushing at him.

"Oh," he groans, and she worries about his wounds. "What? Where am I?"

His eyes are finally opening, but it is still taking too long for him to react. She knows that inspector Javert and his men will not be too far away, and they will want to check that all of the bodies are still where they are supposed to be. His body going missing will be enough of a surprise for the gendarmes, and she does not want to give them any more mysteries to attempt to solve. They have to leave here quickly.

"Get up, monsieur," she orders; her breathing is getting constricted.

"The shadow," his eyes are focused and looking at her. "You're still alive."

When he finally realizes that they are in a somewhat compromising position, he blushes and lowers his eyes before climbing off and turning away. The marble man is back and he is once again chastely lowering his eyes in front of women – she hates that.

"We have to leave," she tells him. "The inspector and his men are right behind us, and if they find us alive, they will surely kill us. We're lucky to be alive, monsieur."

Because he is turned away from her, he does not notice her lack of a mortal wound as she gets up. Eventually, she will have to think of an excuse for that, but for now she can still fool him – he has yet to notice the disappearance of his own wounds, of which there were many. She counted eight wounds before, and now she can see eight red spots on his shirt that have yet to blend together.

He is not a stupid man, and he will soon notice that while there are many bloodstains on his clothes, none of the bullets seem to have penetrated his skin. She still does not know what she will tell him when he does figure it out. Angel business has always been secret to humans, but she is a human now as well, and she still has all of her memories from her time as a guardian angel – not just the ones from the Musain barricade. Her memories of what would have been another death for her are still there too, and she doubts that his memories are any different. He will soon find out.

"Where will we go," he asks, still not looking at her.

"I know my way around," she tells him in response. "You will have to wear a disguise, monsieur. All of the gendarmes know who you are and they want to kill you."

She is already imagining what simple things she can use to make him less conspicuous in the crowds of Paris – the beautiful red coat will have to go and his cravat as well – he has to blend in with the poor he always sympathizes with, while she will make herself look like a woman again. Her breasts can be unbound and she can let her hair down and no one will recognize her as the boy who was shot on the barricade.

"Let them," the man of grand speeches has returned at an inopportune moment. "I will not yield for the men who slaughtered my friends. The people will rise when they see how their defenders were butchered. France will be free!"

The imaginary crowd that is listening with rapt attention to his beautiful words is cheering at those sentences, but she knows much better than this. The people of Paris will continue to sleep in their bed and close the shutters because they are scared for their own lives. They want to keep their jobs, and they want to be able to feed the many children living with them – there is never enough money or food.

He does not know what it is like to slowly starve.

"The people are not coming, monsieur," she tries to tell him the painful truth.

"Pourquoi, mademoiselle Éponine," he replies. "Why do you say that?"

Him calling her mademoiselle is ridiculous and completely not fitting with what she knows of him. She tries to ignore it, but even though she is pressed for time, the thought manages to niggle in the back of her mind. As he can barely look at her, she is forced to take him by the arm to sneak the both of them down the stairs of the café – past the bodies and the non-seeing eyes of their friends. He lets her lead him rather easily, as they sneak outside and keep close to the walls – the shadows are their friends.

"Quiet, monsieur," she warns him, as a platoon of soldiers passes them.

His breath catches in his throat – he is not used to having different plans for every turn a situation can take. She always has several different moves that she can make, because getting cornered will mean getting herself killed – no more immortality.

"Check the alleys," she hears their leader give the order.

Always quick to respond, she almost tears the coat off monsieur Enjolras, throwing it behind some crates and quickly untying his cravat and letting that follow his coat – most of the evidence is now hidden, but he still has too much blood on his shirt for him to pass even a casual inspection. Most of his body will have to be hidden from view, and while she does not mean to offend his delicate sensibilities, she only knows the one way that will do that and take the attention of the gendarmes off the both of them.

Her hat is the next thing to go, letting her dark hair spill over her shoulders. Her long coat hides her trousers, and she loosens her bindings as much as she can with only a limited amount of time. There, she looks like a gamine again.

"Excusez-moi," she tries to apologize in advance. "I am sorry for this."

She presses him into the dirty wall, something that would have hurt him if he were still hurt from all of those gunshots. As is, the push against the wall only briefly takes his breath away – he might need it for the next part of the plan.

"Éponine," he almost looks scared of her. "Que…"

Her mouth is on his before he can finish a sentence – there is simply no time left to explain. Her body is the only thing that she can think of that will cover him sufficiently so that the gendarmes will not see any of the bloodstains. If she keeps their mouths fused together, nobody will be able to see his face – it is the only thing that she can think of that will work. Also, she has always been curious about this kissing thing.

His surprise is obvious, seeing as there is no response to her kiss. He stands there, close to paralyzed, and just lets her give him this important thing – her first kiss. She knows it is probably his first kiss as well, and she is sorry for taking this without asking, but she simply does not know what else to do. She keeps kissing him.

"Please," she whispers as she tries to take a breath. "S'il vous plait."

Even though he still does not seem to understand, at least his body language is less hostile towards her. They never would have convinced anyone before, and now he is at least letting her kiss him. He was not pushing her off before, but his body language was hostile and distant, when now it is more neutral.

She tries to coax him into responding, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer – she is no longer just trying to sell the image, she wants desperately for him to respond to her kiss. She wants this to be good for the both of them.

The longer he does not respond, the more scared she gets that they will be found out by the gendarmes. The voices are getting closer every second, and her body is tensing up in response. She is still planting kisses on his lips, hoping that he will eventually respond to it long enough to fool the gendarmes. Her quick kisses are getting shorter and further apart as she starts to understand that this was a foolish idea.

They are going to get caught and killed – so much for saving his life.

"I think they are all dead," a deep male voice coming closer and closer, with multiple footsteps accompanying it. "However, Inspector Javert wants to make sure."

Then, finally, just when she has given up all hope of surviving, and she has already started making her piece with the world, he finally kisses her. He is hesitant and shy, but his lips are moving against hers and they are kissing.

It actually feels kind of wonderful, and she wonders why she had never been allowed this kissing thing when she was still a guardian. Still, there is no room left in her brain to think of that when she is too busy trying to keep every single feeling locked inside her memories. She still wants to consider this her first real kiss, and his lips are soft and his arms are around her waist, pressing her closer to him.

Oh, is that his tongue she feels? It makes it even better, so she matches him, tentatively letting her tongue tangle with his. The feelings that start are overwhelming.

"This is not the right neighborhood to be doing that, mademoiselle," one of the gendarmes finds them and addresses her.

"I apologize," she finds herself flustered as she responds. "We shall leave."

The gendarmes walk away from them quickly, unhappy with their discovery and hoping to find something better eventually. She sighs deeply, happy that they have not been caught and killed – and she holds on to Enjolras until the policemen are gone.

"You saved us," he is stunned, and finally understands what she was doing.

"Oui," she nods. "Now, we really do have to go somewhere safe. There is blood on your shirt and that is too suspicious for anyone to let us go. I do not know if your face is known to the gendarmes, but we must prepare for that as well."

His face is pale, as if the aftereffects of his actions have only just occurred to him, even though he knows that most of his friends are dead. He truly did not think that the revolution would end this way – she is sure that he either imagined everyone dying in their uprising, or them succeeding and being the heroes of Paris and France. Now there is a different ending – they failed and he survived, because of her.

What if she tells him about that and he hates her forever?

"Marius made it out," she tells him. "He is the only one. Our volunteer, Cosette's father, took him to safety. He is at his grandfather's house now, but we will not be welcome there, I think. I suggest we visit Cosette and hope she can house us temporarily."

It is the only plan that she can think of, and it all depends on their ability to cross the city and stay invisible for as long as they can. She has honed her skill at this a long time ago, but she doubts that he has ever gone unnoticed by people. He is meant to be noticed, and she is going to have trouble trying to make him hide. Still, she will do it.

They are going to have bit of a problem explaining their lack of wounds.

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Surprisingly enough, mister Fauchelevent has not yet asked any questions about the disappearance of their mortal wounds. Sure, he did not see Enjolras die, but he was there when she took her supposed last breath. She was glad that there were no weird looks – mister Fauchelevent was the only other person who knew that she supposedly died, other than Enjolras and he was in the same boat. He had not asked anything about it either, and she wanted to keep it that way.

"It is a miracle, my child," mister Fauchelevent joins her in the sitting room.

"What do you speak of, monsieur," she pretends not to understand.

She is attempting to read a book. Éponine has been taught to read as a child, but it has been a while since she had the luxury of a book to read. In her previous lives, she had some more opportunities to read, but since she is no longer immortal, she has to live with the skill that she has gained as Éponine. She is just Éponine now.

"You were saved by God's miracle," Fauchelevent believes this strongly. "And so was monsieur Enjolras. You have been given a second chance."

That is a wonderful idea, and she can almost see the truth in it, were it not that she had been immortal until she gave everything up for a man who is undoubtedly going to get himself killed planning revolution after revolution until they find him and execute him – and her for saving him. She would be more sorry about his life than hers, because of what she gave up to save him. She gave up everything to save him.

"I worry that Enjolras will not take advantage of this chance," she finally says.

She might have given herself away a bit with these well thought-out words that did not have a trace of gamine in them. Still, monsieur Fauchelevent does not say a thing about them, and she can rest easily knowing her secret is still safe.

"I do not believe in miracles," Enjolras interrupts their conversation.

"What do you believe happened," she questions him, tired of his behavior.

If it had not been for her, he would not have made it out of the café – he would have died on the barricade with most of his friends. If she had known that he would rather have died a hero than lived to tell about it, she might not have saved him. She would have still been immortal and warm and comfortable – so she resents him a lot for this.

"Should I have left you to die," she raises her voice, even though she can see that Cosette's father is getting uncomfortable. "I pulled you away from certain death and you choose to live your life moping and regretting that you didn't die."

Monsieur Fauchelevent carefully moves away from the both of them and exits the room, leaving the two of them together to face their pain and guilt. They are standing across from each other, facing each other in the middle of this elegant sitting room that should not be dirtied by their pain and damage. They darken the house with this.

"I am the only one left," he bites at her, his voice raised with the passion that she used to find impressive. "I watched my friends die in front of my very eyes. I was dying myself when you found me. There is nothing left for me, Éponine."

It hurts to hear him say that, and she wants to tell him how much she gave up to make sure that he lived. Still, she will not let her sacrifice go to waste, no matter what he says and what he thinks about the future. She can understand the pain, the sadness, and the anger – but she does not understand how he cannot see that he was the only one being lucky enough to make it out. He has a second chance, and he will not use it.

"Marius is here and I am here," she tells him, her voice breaking. "There is still a future for you, if you will just try. I will help you with whatever you want."

She has to make sure to remind herself that the same goes for her – she needs to remember that she has a future, however limited it may be now that she has a normal human lifespan. She still has a good fifty years to make a difference.

"What could I want from you," he asks, more pondering than skeptical.

"I do not know," she tells him in response. "Still, all you have to do is ask."

He takes her hand in his then, his warm hand softly grasping hers with a strength that continues to surprise her. The shiver going down her spine is surprising, and her inability to look at anything other than his lips is even more so. She is remembering the moment that he finally started kissing her back, and the memory makes her smile.

"Make me forget," he asks, stepping in closer to her.

"I will try," she smiles sweetly, leaning in to kiss him. "Come here."

Their lips meet, and the rest of the world indeed starts to fade away.

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Her human form is 79 years old, and she knows that it is her time. There have been too many years on the streets developing sicknesses for her to reach eighty, and she is more than satisfied with the time that she has been given.

"It is almost time, love," she tells him, and talking starts to hurt.

He is almost as frail as she is, but even though he passed eighty a few years ago, he is still strong and warm and safe. He can always make her feel safe.

"I refuse to believe that," he tells her, clinging to her hand.

"You should believe it," she replies, working hard to make her mouth form a smile and to keep talking. "Because I have a few things I need to say before I go."

Their children are sitting in the room as well, keeping a respectful distance that she would normally find ridiculous, but in the case of the secret that she is about to tell, she is glad that they will not be able to hear what she has to tell him. This is something that only he should hear, because it only concerns the two of them.

"At the barricade," she speaks the words with pain in her heart, because that time is a long kept secret in their family, "I made a bargain to save your life. It was the best decision I ever made. I gave up my future for you, my next lives. And now I have you, and you are my future, and you will be long after I am gone."

Now that this is finally off her chest, she is ready to say goodbye to everyone.

Antoine and his Emilie with Victoire – is the girl really married already? She holds her darling granddaughter's hand one more time and lets her eldest son kiss her weathered cheek and pretends not to see his tears. Emilie is kind and smiles at her, supporting her family and crying silently. That woman is brave enough to be an Enjolras.

Her Sebastian is sobbing – her lovely poet boy has gotten old. She beckons him with a crook of her finger because he has always been a mama's boy and he will never forgive himself if he does not hug and kiss her now. He left his family at home – they had said goodbye to her already and he would not want to be seen this way by his strong and proud sons. Her little poet boy would only cry with her.

Madeleine is pretending to be all aloof and distant – her father's daughter at first sight, but she is her little girl on the inside. Her husband Jean Pontmercy is at her sight, seeing right through the façade and motioning for her grandchildren to say goodbye to her.

"I am so proud of all of you," she smiles at them, holding the hugs and the kisses in her heart, and hoping that she was the parent and grandparent she never got to have.

"Gabriel, love," she motions for her husband to come to her again.

"I have suspected for years," he whispers. "My guardian angel."

With a smile on her lips, and pride in her heart, Éponine Enjolras moves on.

AN: Sorry for any tears that I might have caused with this. It was a bit of a struggle fitting this into the world I wanted to write, but I think it worked.


End file.
